


Protege

by kcstories



Category: The X-Files
Genre: Canon Divergence, Happy Ending, M/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-01-03
Updated: 2010-01-03
Packaged: 2017-10-05 17:29:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,335
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/44187
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kcstories/pseuds/kcstories
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He's not his father. He's not cut out for this. And if he's really set on being a great man, I'll bet my bottom dollar that he'll be a dead man first.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Protege

**Author's Note:**

> **A/N:** AU-ish (set right after the ending of "Two Fathers").  
> **Warnings:** strong language, sexual situations (m/m), character death (not Jeff or Alex.)

The look on his face; I'll never forget it.

He may be an FBI agent, but he's still wet behind the ears, a rookie who hasn't seen much of life, much of anything.

He's no Mulder, that's for damn sure.

"I'll be my own great man," he says as he storms out of the room and onto the street, and I don't know why I feel I've got to stop him, save him from doing something phenomenally stupid, but before I even try analysing my reasons, I'm already out the door.

Four blocks away, I finally catch up with him. Yeah, he's a fast walker, I'll give him that much.

"Jeff, would you hold up for one frigging second?"

My voice is probably a bit too loud, considering that it's late and there's probably a lot of human vermin watching, and we'd be better off not attracting that kind of attention. Or any kind of attention, come to think of it. I mean, after all, he's an FBI agent, and I'm…

No, we probably shouldn't go there.

He turns around and I'm surprised at how relieved I am that I got him to stop. Like a bolt out of the blue, it hits me that I don't want him to get hurt, though I'll be damned if I understand why or where that even stems from. It's not like I give a shit about people in general. Feelings never come without a price, usually a higher one than what I'm prepared to pay.

Spender looks upset, angry, defeated even, and I guess if that cigarette smoking son of a bitch wanted to make a man out of him, the bastard did a bang up job; but then I probably shouldn't have expected him to treat his own son any better than he does the rest of us.

We're all pawns in this perverted little game of his; easily shuffled around with the flick of a hand and just as expendable.

"Jeff?"

He doesn't say a word. He's probably still in shock and it doesn't surprise me.

He'd seen his share of weirdness before, I'm sure, but nothing like the thing we took care of earlier. So much for hanging on to denial and claiming that aliens don't exist.

Today must have been an eye-opener for him in more ways than one.

I grab him by the shoulders, just to get his attention, to snap him out of it. I don't know if it'll work. I'm no Mulder either.

I mean, I know what it takes to break a man, just don't ask me how the hell I'm supposed to help put him back together again.

And that's what I want to do now, isn't it, to fix Jeffrey Spender, for some stupid reason? Alex Krycek has come to save the day. I must be out of my damn mind.

He finally looks at me, though his expression is blank. "This was some kind of test, wasn't it?" he says.

I nod. I see no reason to lie or to protect them.

"And I failed, didn't I, Alex?"

I study his face for a moment. Now he looks genuinely disappointed and that's something I really don't understand.

Or maybe I do. He's ambitious, this one, and driven by completely different motives than Mulder ever was and I think, deep down inside, that maybe he wants the bastard's approval after all. In the end, the man is still his father, and with his mother... well....

Who else has he got left? No one at the FBI gives a shit; it's every man for himself; it always was and always will be.

"He doesn't need to know," I say and smile. "No one does; it'll be our little secret."

That didn't come out quite right, or as smooth as I'd wanted.

I hope he doesn't think that I feel sorry for him now, or that I'm laughing at him, and then I wonder why I should even care what he thinks; he's just a stupid rookie FBI agent.

Except he isn't and we're more alike than he knows and than I realised before. Just what are you getting yourself into, Krycek?

"I—"

I don't know what he wants to say and I don't think he does, either.

He finally settles for: "Thanks, Alex."

I nod again. Not much else needs saying, I think, though I can feel that something has changed between us, a shift in balance that has the potential to develop into something pretty huge, and it's nothing like that business with Marita.

She's a bit of a minx, that one, but we were only using each other. It was a mutually beneficial sort of arrangement, and it worked, for a while, as long as we had the same goals.

He's different, though. He'd never agree to anything like that. I'm not even sure I'd want him to.

I think I prefer him untainted, though then it probably makes no sense that I still want him for myself.

Come to think of it, all this is starting to make less and less sense.

He looks at me then, puts a hand on my shoulder and for a minute there, I think he's going to kiss me. Do I actually want him to?

Yes, he's definitely very different from Fox Mulder.

Instead he says, "We should probably get out of the rain."

Rain? I look around. We're standing right in the middle of a downpour and I didn't even notice until now. What the hell is wrong with me today?

"Yeah," I mutter.

We walk back to the car without saying another word. He's too shook up to drive; even though he denies it. He acts like he's being generous by letting me take the wheel.

Whatever makes you happy, I think and only now realise how badly I want to protect him.

Well, someone should.

He's not his father. He's not cut out for this. And if he's really set on being a great man, I'll bet my bottom dollar that he'll be a dead man first. God, the poor bastard doesn't even know the half of it.

"Would you like to get some coffee?" I hear myself ask.

It's not my best line. Well, it's not a line at all, but I'd hate to seem too obvious. I don't even know what his preferences are; Hell, I barely know anything about him that's not connected to his father or related to the project or to this...

And I sure as hell wouldn't want any rumours to start circulating about me either. Being attracted to both men and women isn't the sort of thing you advertise in my line of work, even though it does come in handy now and again.

"Sure," he says and adds in an odd tone of voice, "We should probably talk."

"Yeah, we should," I agree and start the engine.

I think it's going to be an interesting next couple of hours.

*

Jeffrey's hands are shaking.

People sometimes say that the truth hurts, don't they? Well, take it from me, they don't know the half of it.

Maybe I should have offered him something stronger than coffee.

Whiskey or Cognac maybe.

Or Vodka. I've got plenty of Vodka.

Sometimes I almost laugh when I consider how much of a walking cliché I've become.

I've even started wearing black and barely anything but, so nowadays I look like an honest-to-God textbook assassin, or like I stepped straight out of some corny seventies cops show. The only thing that's still missing is my own theme song, but maybe someone up there is already working on that, too.

"Whose side are you on?" he asks with the kind of directness that can only be rooted in bitter betrayal.

"Mine," I reply and that's a cliché too.

"Right." He clears his throat. "I should probably get going, set up an appointment with Mulder in the morning, explain everything I—" His words trail off. His voice falters.

"Bad idea," I tell him and lay my hand on his arm. "If your father finds out, he'll have you killed; just like that." I snap my fingers for emphasis. "Who knows? Maybe he'll even take care of it personally. Maybe he'll consider that the honourable thing to do."

That's neither a lie nor an exaggeration and he does have the right to know what he's up against, doesn't he?

He blinks once, twice, before he yells, "What?!"

"He's not a nice man, Jeff. You've figured out that much by now, right?"

He nods. "I've known for most of my life," he says. His voice is flat and he's still shaking.

As though of its own accord, my right hand moves lower and grabs his.

He frowns, tenses, and then relaxes slightly and gives me an odd sort of look. "What are we doing?" he asks me.

I shrug. "Testing something?"

"What?"

"This," I say and I lean over and kiss him on the mouth. I'll probably regret this soon, because he's not exactly the type who'd mess around, I shouldn't think, but then he kisses me back like he hasn't been kissed in forever.

Has he? I don't know anything about a wife or a girlfriend; or a boyfriend, for that matter…

His hands are in my hair and he's pulling me closer, clinging to me like a drowning man. When we finally break apart, we're both panting hard. There's pure lust in his eyes; a hint of fear, too.

"I—I'm not sure what to do," he admits with a shy smile that almost makes me melt.

And that's pathetic. I'm not capable of tender feelings, I don't have a conscience to speak of, and I sure as hell don't melt. Except when I'm with him, as it turns out. And so I'm thinking that this whole thing would probably be much easier if he wasn't so damn cute.

"I'll show you," I say, and then I do, kissing him until we're both out of breath again.

He tugs at my sleeve, tries to take off my shirt. He doesn't know about the arm... well, lack of, so I shake my head.

"Later, Jeff."

The next thing I know we're all over each other, hands and lips, and then he's bending over the sofa and I'm prepping him with some cream Marita left behind.

Judging from the fancy brand name on the label, it's probably something pretty expensive, and this isn't what it's really for, obviously, but that doesn't matter. I can't even be bothered to consider the twisted poetic justice that could probably be found here if you looked hard enough, though I do have to wonder what that chain-smoking son of a bitch would say if he knew what I'm about to do to his only son. Well, assuming the man even gives a shit.

I can tell when Jeff's ready. I push myself inside and start to move, and soon he's crying out my name, wanting more, needing everything I have to offer. The shyness is gone, and who'd have thought that he'd be this eager, this wanton, moving beneath me?

I stroke him, fast and hard.

It's been too long; for both of us, it seems.

It doesn't take him long before he comes, groaning my name and leaving a wet patch on the sofa, a stain I'll deal with later. Or I'll just buy a new sofa. It's not like I can't afford it.

Three more deep, hard thrusts, and my own orgasm tears through me.

It's always better with a guy, I know that much, but it's incredible with him. This isn't just sex, never was, and I think he might be my downfall if I'm not careful.

But when have I ever been careful?

I kiss the back of his neck before I release him.

He turns around and looks at me. "I think I need a shower before I go home," he says, sounding kind of awkward. He probably doesn't understand how we got to this point so fast, how we went from killing that Thing to fucking in my apartment, all in a matter of a few hours. Come to think of it, I'm a little vague on that, myself.

"You don't have to go home tonight," I tell him; damned if I know why. "But I've got to agree on the shower."

"Join me?" he says.

I grin. "I wouldn't mind, but I ought to tell you something, so it doesn't come as a shock. You see, this one time a couple of years ago—"

"Your entire left arm," he says softly. "I know."

"You know."

"Yeah." His smile is almost apologetic. And it should be, damn it! "I read it in an X-file; what happened and why. I'm sorry, Alex."

Great. Trust Mulder to keep a record of everything, even details like that. Anal-retentive, pencil-pushing piece of shit.

"Right," I say.

"I don't mind," he reassures me.

And it turns out that he really doesn't. Which is… unusual, and very nice.

A shower and a mutual hand job—the latter instigated by him, no less—later, he says that he'll be comfortable enough on my sofa, but I suggest that we share my bed instead.

That's weird and not like me at all. I never let them stay the night afterwards. Not like that.

Well, Marita did sleep here, of course, but that was a whole different ballgame. We both knew where we stood and what it meant:

Absolutely nothing.

This, though...

I may end up regretting this.

I'm pretty damn sure that he will, come tomorrow morning.

He gets into bed next to me; wearing some of my boxers and a T-shirt. I had to stop myself from laughing when he asked for pyjamas. I haven't owned a pair of those since I was—thirteen, maybe?

Stupid rookie FBI agent, and to think I was like him once; well, kind of. At least I played the part better than some.

"Night, Alex," he says.

"Night, Jeff," I reply, almost amused but not really.

I turn off the light.

I hear a slight rustling of sheets. He shifts closer, spoons against my back, kisses my right shoulder, and throws an arm around my waist.

I guess the smart thing to do would be to shrug it off. This wasn't exactly a part of my plan, snuggling with him.

But I don't. I can't. Instead I think it might be good to have... a friend? An ally?

Is that what he is? Is that what he wants to be?

I guess I'll ask him in the morning.

*

I knew that something was going to happen long before they did; any of them.

There was just no way that this story could end happily, not as quickly or as easily as all that, and mark my words: something drastic is going to take place here tonight. The truth never comes without a price.

And then the expected does happen, practically right on schedule.

The smoking man appears out of nowhere. He saunters through the door as though he owns the place. Who knows; maybe the damn bastard actually does?

Off the top of my head, I can already name at least ten people, all highly respected members of the Bureau, who are practically living out of his pockets.

Making sure to stay unnoticed, I follow him down to Jeffrey's office. He's clearly up to no good, as usual, and I'm not sure if I should be satisfied that I'm right or disappointed at how laughably predictable he's become.

Surely I can't be the only one who's figured it out; the only person who's on to him?

I expected a lot better from Mulder especially, but maybe he's been completely blinded by Fowley's… charms (and yes, I use that term most loosely, in case you couldn't tell) to still see the forest for the trees anymore.

So anyway, a few minutes later, I'm standing outside Jeff's office, listening at the door.

Cancerman didn't even bother to close it shut.

I guess he's not expecting company.

It's been a long day. Pretty much everyone's gone home already.

And he's never lacked confidence.

He's talking to Jeff; giving some little speech (I can't tell if it's been rehearsed or if he's just making it up as he goes) and a sense of foreboding takes hold of me.

I'm still not surprised, and it won't be long now.

Jeffrey would never have gotten away with this unscathed. Turning his back on his father, publicly supporting Mulder and Scully; there were bound to be consequences.

Just because what he did was the honourable thing to do doesn't mean it was also very smart.

I grin wryly.

Fair, always playing by the rules and ever so misguided Jeffrey; he'll never learn, will he?

And he'll be the death of us both if he doesn't start watching his back.

No, wait. That's my job. It's what I came here for.

In the office, a gun is aimed; predictably.

Through the crack in the door I can see the shock that's written all over Jeff's face. It's not actual terror, not even surprise, really. It's more like, "Shit, I hoped I wouldn't be right."

So I guess I underestimated him, then. Or not, seeing how he doesn't seem to have any kind of defence. How did he survive the FBI training, I wonder with a sneer, and how did he even manage to stay alive for this long?

Regardless, this isn't a time I should be thinking. It's a time to act.

The bastard aims his gun, straight at Jeff.

Like hell you do, I think

In one swift move, I grab my own gun, push the door wide open and I'm the first to pull the trigger.

One bullet in the back of the head is all it takes. He slumps over the desk, dead.

And I'm standing there thinking, that was quick.

Too quick, a far more merciful fate than he ever deserved.

God, I wanted him to suffer, to bleed and to bargain and beg for his life.

But I guess you can't always get it your way.

At least I'll still have him—

Jeffrey.

"A-Alex," he stammers and he looks like he's going to faint or throw up or…. Yeah, I sure know how to pick 'em, don't I?

Still, he does neither. He just sits there, motionless, like he's rooted to the spot, staring at me.

I snap my fingers and two men, dressed in black, enter the room. They're associates of mine.

It's a good thing, you know, to be well connected and moreover, I wasn't the only one who wanted that piece of shit gone; far from it.

Someone's always waiting just around the corner, anticipating the right moment to double-cross the double-crosser. It's one of those unwritten rules of this game and it never fails.

The two men leave, taking the body to God knows where to get rid of it. I couldn't give a fuck about the precise location, frankly. I have other worries right now.

I move over to Jeff. He's got his head cradled in his hands.

"Are you okay?" I ask. I guess it's a dumb question. He's white as a sheet.

"Y-You killed him," he says, his eyes wide.

"Well, it was either you or him," I say. "Not much of a choice; was it, Jeff?"

"No," he says. "I-I guess not."

I place a comforting hand on his shoulder. I hope that what happened here tonight won't cause too much distress or stand between us like a giant wall. I did just save his life. I hope he realises that it could have been him instead; leaving this office and this building feet first, only to end up dumped somewhere.

And then he surprises me. "That's the second time you've killed for me, Alex," he points out. Funny, isn't it; how he can be so… observant at a time like this?

I shake my head and laugh. Then I lean down and kiss him. "See you later, Spender," I say. "Don't stay here all night."

Another kiss and I head for the door.

"Alex?" he says.

I turn around again.

"Will I," he says, his face full of doubt. "I mean, would you like me to come over later?"

"No," I reply and add with a wink. "I know where you live."

On my way back to the elevator, my face breaks into a wide grin.

I guess I should stop for champagne before I drive over to Jeffrey's place. After all, we've got something to celebrate.

*

I stop the grey Sedan in front of the large villa in Vermont that I bought a few years ago.

Five, to be exact.

Funny, isn't it, how time flies?

Two days after I rid the world of that cigarette-smoking son of a bitch, Jeffrey decided to quit the Bureau.

He went up to Skinner's office and handed in his resignation.

Just like that.

You know, I never thought he had it in him. I always expected him to be more ambitious and righteous, more like Mulder, really, but I should have known better.

After all, he had already surprised me a couple of times before.

And then the next thing I knew, I ended up surprising myself as well, by inviting him to come away with me and by suggesting we'd have an actual relationship.

Well, all right, I never used the word 'relationship'. That wouldn't have been my style.

Instead, I called it a possible fresh start for him, far away from the shitty memories, and a safe hideout for me, and I told him that we'd make a good team.

He agreed straight away; didn't even hesitate.

I guess he already knew what I was really getting at, even if I refused to admit it at the time.

I didn't want to leave him behind or let him go. Just thinking about that happening hurt more than I'd ever imagined.

I walk into the hallway and drop my bag by the stairs. It's always just the one bag.

In my line of work, it's best to travel light. Well, my former line of work, but we'll get back to that later.

I head into the living room. I spot him sitting at the desk in the corner.

Over a large stack of papers, he looks at me, stunned. "Alex?"

"Yeah." I bite back a grin and raise an eyebrow at him. "Why? Were you expecting somebody else, Spender? One of your pretty, young university buddies, maybe?"

"God, no." He rolls his eyes and shakes his head. I never let an opportunity pass me by to tease him with his decision to get another degree, and doesn't he know it?

"Idiot," he says. Then he gets up, in a flash crosses the distance between us, and pulls me into a fierce hug.

"Yeah, I missed you too, Jeff," I say, and it's true enough, which is part of the reason why…

He kisses me and smiles. "So, Alex, how did it go?"

"As usual," I reply with a shrug. "I'm kind of glad it's all over and done with now."

He frowns and takes a step back. "How do you mean; what's over now?

I grin. "Let's just say I retired."

"Retired?" he parrots, and I'm a little amused that I surprised him for a second time today.

"Yeah," I reply. My tone suggests that this is no big deal at all, although we both know better. "I'm out of the spy business. I'd been thinking about quitting for a while, really, but—"

"But?"

"It never seemed like the right time."

"Oh. And now it did?"

"Yeah," I say. "It was definitely the right time."

I know he won't ask me anything more, and I'm glad I won't have to tell him, because some of the things I've seen; Assassins as young as twelve, chemical weapons, injections that burn you from the inside.

It was bad before, when they were in charge, but at least there was some control then, some kind of unspoken hierarchy that was respected by most, but now…

It's become a dog-eat-dog world driven by anarchy, insanity and greed, and not necessarily in that order.

But Jeffrey won't pry, and I'm standing there thinking that it feels really good to have this silent understanding between us, this unconditional trust.

He's the first person I've trusted in…

God knows, but none of my past relationships (if you can even call them that) were this intense or lasted this long, and they were never…

I might as well say it; there was never any love involved, but here, with him, there is, and that's another reason why I'm quitting.

Maybe I'm going soft, but I miss him when we're apart, and I worry about him too.

I wouldn't want to put him in danger if their crap got even more out of hand.

"So, would you like to go out for dinner?" he says, changing the subject. I doubt he'll ever bring it up again. "I wasn't expecting you, so there's not much in the fridge."

Typical. He hasn't been eating right. He never does when I'm not around to remind him.

I look at the clock. It's a few minutes past eight. "Italian?" I ask.

He grins. "What else?"

There's a small restaurant at a ten-minute drive from where we live. We started going there when we first moved here. The food is great, the people are nice and everyone just knows us as Jeff and Alex, and most important of all, no one ever asks us any questions.

It's perfect.

"Sure," I say.

He smiles a carefree smile I've never seen him smile before. I guess I wasn't the only one who was worried.

He steps closer and kisses me again. I think I'm going to enjoy my retirement.

*


End file.
